


how light carries on endlessly

by conwalshs



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:06:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conwalshs/pseuds/conwalshs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver had noticed strange things for the vast majority of his life. They ranged from mildly interesting to utterly bizarre, both brands just as prevalent as the other. The more it happened, the more familiar Oliver became with it. In some ways, it felt like someone was on his side; looking out for his best interests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how light carries on endlessly

Oliver had noticed strange things for the vast majority of his life. They ranged from mildly interesting to utterly bizarre, both brands just as prevalent as the other.

Sometimes it was his glasses popping up seemingly from nowhere when two seconds before, he’d been reaching fruitlessly around for them. The same happened with his keys multiple times throughout the month.

One time, he was caught in the rain—a complete downpour—but stumbled upon an umbrella around the corner. It was sitting idle, almost as if it was waiting for someone to use it.

Occasionally when he was late for work and he’d hit the snooze button one time too many, he’d wake up to the sound of something crashing to the floor – jolting him awake. But upon further inspection, he found nothing was broken or out of place. Still, it had him plenty alert to get his ass out of bed and arrive at work just in the nick of time.

Other things were harder to explain. Like the random call he’d gotten from home after his dad had a heart attack, but he hadn’t actually called him at all. The phone line was quiet, save for the sound of his father struggling to breathe on the other end. It allowed Oliver just enough time to get there and call an ambulance. The paramedics told him that had he waited even a few minutes longer, his dad wouldn’t have made it.

The more it happened, the more familiar Oliver became with it. In some ways, it felt like someone was on his side; looking out for his best interests.

But then he remembered that it was completely irrational to see it that way. It was probably just his own loneliness talking. He’d never been especially gifted at making friends.

The same could be said when it came to relationships, and it’s all Oliver can think about when he arrives back at home for the evening. His hope was that his date would end up arriving back there with him, perhaps even staying over until the next morning. He could accept that the chemistry was lacking in some cases, but in this specific one, Oliver couldn’t help feeling as though he’d been written off the moment they made eye contact. Blind dates were so hit or miss.

Now that the night was absolutely clear for him, Oliver didn’t know how to preoccupy himself. Moping was a viable option but certainly not a productive one.

Sifting through the cabinets in his kitchen, he ends up relenting to his own self-pity and grabs a bottle of gin. He’d never liked the drink much but his friend had left it there one night, just about three quarters full.

He starts off with two drinks, sitting quietly with his back slumped against the chair. Was this what his life was going to look like forever? Working an IT job that, although interesting and tailored towards his strengths, didn’t ultimately do any good in the world? No one would notice if Oliver Hampton fell off the face of the Earth. He wouldn’t leave a big enough mark to matter.

“There are worse things I could be upset over.” he mumbles to himself, not truly realizing that he’s speaking his thoughts aloud at this point. “I’m not sick. I still have my family and friends. I’m…not horrible looking.” He tries to chuckle but just grimaces instead. His self-esteem is just as shitty as his mood.

After a while, he starts feeling a little dopey. Still sulky, but the sadness has been replaced by self-deprecating humor.

Oliver knows it won’t do him any good, but he clicks on his Facebook app and starts to scroll through his friends list.

“Married, married. Married with three kids…” he mumbles, checking the relationship status of everyone there. “Ah, divorced!” is what he says until he scrolls a bit farther down. “And then married again. Amazing.”

He even takes a few minutes to creep some old exes; two in particular who he felt especially fond of. Neither of them lasted very long in Oliver’s life. One had been visiting for six months and it was inevitable that their fling wouldn’t ever become more. The second cheated on him, and the rest was history. In both cases, looking at their profiles made him miserable.

Sighing, he takes another swig of his drink and shakes his head after it slides down his throat. “They look so much happier without me.”

“That second guy had a small dick anyway. Totally not worth the pining, man.”

“It wasn’t that small–” Oliver starts to say, but then jumps in his seat when he realizes that no one’s home with him. There’s a voice speaking to him that shouldn’t be there.

He gets out of his seat hastily and reaches for the nearest thing he can construe as a weapon—a rolling pin from the counter—and looks around.

The last thing he needs tonight is a home invasion. As if his luck could really get any worse.

“I-I’m calling the police!” he lies, but does have enough sense to clumsily dig his phone out of his pocket. His hands are shaking and his brain is so rattled that he isn’t sure he could call if he needed to. “I own a gun! And I’m not afraid to use it to defend myself!”

Even though he can’t see anyone, he can feel a cold draft right up against his left side, and the voice that speaks seconds later comes from that direction as well. “No need to bullshit me about the gun. I’ve been here long enough to know that you’ve never had one.”

The chills running up Oliver’s spine are too unnerving to shake, even as he backs away from the block of cold air beside him. It seems to follow him wherever he goes, until finally it retreats.

“Just go! Take whatever you want and go so neither of us has to get in trouble!” he shouts, trembling from head to toe. Oliver can’t help hoping that the person can’t hear the tremor in his voice.

From just around the corner, straight out of the living room, Oliver sees a faint outline of a person striding towards him. Its hands are up as if they’re surrendering, taking slow but direct steps in his direction. The more he looks, the easier it is to see that it’s a man. But he doesn’t look solid. Not like he’s made of flesh and bones and muscles. More like he’s a projection. Oliver can see through his body as if he’s gazing through fog.

“Hey, calm down.” the man says. “I’m no newcomer here. I just haven’t made my presence known until now. And this is the exact reason why.”

This is too strange, too bizarre and Oliver isn’t about to trust it for the life of him. His right hand is wrapped around one end of the rolling pin while the left is still clutching his phone. “What are you talking about?” he questions, shaking his head in confusion. “What the hell are you?”

A part of him wonders if perhaps the gin was somehow laced with something else, if this is just a hallucination. With the kind of day he’d been having, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

Lowering his hands slowly, the man wanders to the table and sits down on one of the chairs. “I’m just going to sit here until you put those two things away. Neither can hurt me. If you use the rolling pin you’ll be swinging at air. If you call the police, they’re going to think you’re a nut job for calling about an intruder when there isn’t one. Your choice.”

He doesn’t seem inherently dangerous, especially since there’s no substance to his body. How could someone you can see through be any threat?

“And,” the man says again before Oliver can speak, “You’re not insane, which I’m sure you’re thinking. You’re neurotic and you’re such a worry wart that I can’t even stomach it, but you’re not losing your mind. If you’re thinking I’m some kind of ghost; even though I don’t personally like that term, then you’d be right.”

Not only is his head spinning, but the entire room seems to be flipped on its side. The whole world, even.

Oliver lets go of both the pin and the phone, putting them down on the counter beside him. His hands lift up to his face and he covers his eyes, willing this entire scenario away.

But when his hands fall back down, nothing’s changed.

“Still here.” the man grins, looking satisfied with himself for the unrest he’s caused. “You know, I’ve imagined this so many times and yet, this is infinitely more entertaining than I thought it’d be. I’m glad I waited this long to rear my head.”

“You’re not real. You’re not real.” Oliver repeats, purposefully looking anywhere in the room except for at him.

He can see the man’s hand dancing around the bottle of gin – almost touching it but not quite. It’s like his fingers aren’t there enough to grasp it.

“What’s the definition of real, anyway? Who says you’re real and I’m not?” the man counters, his expression going from amused to frustrated a few seconds later. “I used to like this shit—gin. Well, I preferred vodka but at this point, I wouldn’t be picky. I’d kill to be able to get drunk.”

“Then you’re saying you’re a real ghost? Like, a dead person who has their spirit roaming around or whatever?”

“Or I’m a product of your unraveling sanity, you choose which explanation helps you sleep better at night.”

It might be a joke but Oliver’s sincerely erring towards the first option.

He reaches towards one of the chairs and drags it towards him, hesitantly seating himself in it. There’s enough distance from this unexpected visitor to help him feel somewhat safe.

“What are you doing here then? Why haunt me and my place?”

Oliver watches the other man peer around, from the ceiling and then back in the direction of the living room. “This used to be my place. Used to have way better furniture, too. Your taste sucks.”

“Thanks.” Oliver retorts dryly, surprising himself with the response.

This earns him a smile, and then the man continues speaking.

“You ever hear about people who haunt the place they got murdered in? Or even the general area? That sums up why I’m still stuck around here.”

Just the word murdered makes the blood rush away from Oliver’s face.

The other man must take notice, since he makes a shrugging gesture. “Not a big deal. I’ve had about thirty years to get over it. Oh, and I’m Connor, by the way.” he adds, extending his hand across the table before retracting it. “Well, the sentiment is there. Sorry I can’t follow through.” He’s laughing, but Oliver senses the slightest bit of disappointment in his features. It’s gone before he can think much on it.

“So you’ve been here thirty years?”

Connor nods, sitting there with his arms crossed against his chest as if he’s anticipating more questions.

“I only moved here five years ago.”

“I’m well aware.” Connor replies, nodding his head. “I remember the day you moved in. You were a total mess, such a scatterbrain.”

“You’ve been watching me this whole time?” Oliver gapes, his eyes wide.

A smug grin crosses Connor’s features when he nods. “The whole time. Everything there is to see, I’ve seen it.”

Once again, Oliver lifts his hands to his eyes and rubs them raw, focusing on the pleasant burning sensation they leave instead of the fact that Connor’s probably watched him jerk off hundreds upon hundreds of times. Among other things.

“So now you’re willing to believe I’m dead when you’re worried I’ve seen your dick, huh? I would’ve brought it up sooner if that was the kind of proof you needed.”

Oliver uncovers his eyes, knowing that he can’t mask the blush sweeping over his cheeks, so he doesn’t even try. “Let’s just pretend we never discussed this.”

“Whatever you say.” Connor shrugs. “Doesn’t make much of a difference since I’ve basically seen every inch of you.”

No matter how much Oliver wants to reply, he doesn’t let himself.

“Can I back up for a moment here? You said you were murdered.”

“Yep. Right over there.” Connor gestures vaguely towards the middle of the living room.

Part of Oliver doesn’t want to know but he still feels compelled to ask. “How?”

“You really don’t want to know.” is Connor’s response, and somehow that makes it even worse than if he had an actual explanation.

After a few beats of silence, Connor starts talking again. “It’s been kind of cool. I’ve felt like your roommate this whole time. You know, a creepy invisible one that doesn’t pay rent or raid your fridge. I’m probably the best kind of roommate a person could ask for, when you really think about it.”

It makes Oliver think about all of those strange coincidences that he used to write off. His lost belongings magically resurfacing, the call about his dad, all the little ways his life was made easier. Those were things he noticed but could never put a name to. They were moments where his usually bad luck seemed to retreat for a while.

“So you’ve been the person helping me out.” Oliver states, not even needing Connor to confirm it.

“You’re a total mess, you definitely need it.”

Connor smiles and Oliver finds it so strange that watching this person—this ghost—smile because of him is doing something to his stomach. Something that resembles the butterflies sensation.

“And for the record, those guys were dicks. And the guy you went out with tonight was probably a dick too. I’m dead and even I can see you’re a catch.” Connor assures.

Somehow, Oliver hadn’t been expecting him to be gay. Not that it matters, of course.

Because he’s dead.

Because it’s insane to be attracted to a man who hasn’t existed for thirty years.

Connor leans forward a bit, and Oliver can feel that chill from before coming back, lifting the hairs on his arms.

“I’m almost jealous, as weird as that might sound. You’ve been giving these guys a chance and then they fuck it up when I’d be totally down to date you. If I was alive, that is.” he edits, giving him a half smile.

“A guy like you going for a guy like me?” Oliver asks skeptically, shaking his head. “Totally unlikely. I’d say impossible, actually.”

“I might not have been into dudes like you when I was alive, but being dead for a while makes you more down-to-Earth, as ironic as that seems. The superficial crap doesn’t really matter, does it?”

A silence falls between them. Oliver is starting to realize that the nippy air around him isn’t feeling threatening anymore. It’s proof that he’s not alone. Not really, anyway.

Oliver isn’t sure how to respond, and thinks it might be rhetorical anyway, so he switches gears. “Are you going to stick around here still?”

“Kinda have to.” Connor replies, smiling in a way that makes Oliver thinks he’s more chagrined than amused at the idea. “But even if I didn’t have to, I’d want to. I’m used to you.” He pauses after that, hesitating for a second. “Unless you’re too weirded out by this. I mean, I think most people would. You’re drunk right now and you’ll probably wake up thinking this wasn’t real. I can be scarce so you won’t even know I’m around.”

Initially, Oliver hadn’t taken Connor as someone to seem nervous, but his tone is giving that distinct impression.

For the first time since coming home, Oliver’s smiling genuinely. “I’m not going to forget this or think I dreamt it up, trust me. Not after how much everything makes sense now. I’m pretty indebted to you, now that I think about it.”

“I’m going to remember that. You can pay me back one of these days.” Connor quips, standing up from his chair.

“Wait-” Watching him stand up, Oliver’s struck again by how barely-there Connor’s body is. He doesn’t understand how someone could be so bound to the world but look as unreal as he does. “You’re going?”

“Not for good. It’s just draining to be like this for long. I’m going to start petering out soon so I should go before that. I’m still here though. Always will be.”

He’s dissipating like fog on a mirror before Oliver can reply, taking with him the cool wall of air that surrounded him.

All Oliver ever wanted was to feel like he was living his life in the company of someone else. To know that he wasn’t locked within four walls without a single person to understand who he was, to have someone even care. A life without genuine bonds formed seemed so worthless. Even the knowledge of someone being nearby enough to feel his presence would be enough.

The greatest comfort he ever could have asked for was that. And Oliver was beginning to realize that he’d had it all along, in one way or another.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave comments if you have any! i thoroughly enjoyed writing this, so i hope you liked reading it.


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